Beautiful Nightmare

Evening Guys,
   
On closing my eyes I have somehow been transported to a district that I have never been to before. Down a single country Lane surrounded by trees and bushes and on the opposite side of the road to where I was stood I could see the rolling countryside and disappearing sun. Mr. Warehouse appeared soon after and we entered the Cottage-Barn type venue to have a look around. Looking around however I couldn't help but get the feeling that we were either being watched or preyed upon. As my fiance and I wandered around the dark wood stained walls and buildings, I felt myself constantly looking over my shoulder. It wasn't long before I saw him. Mr. Workaholic. 

Making some sort of excuse I left Mr Warehouse to look around the remaining of the buildings and out houses, following Mr Workaholic into a quieter area of the estate I asked him rather frantically what an earth he thought he was doing here. 
"I needed to see you" He muttered, hushed so as not to be discovered. 
"I am a engaged woman now and you have no right turn up here - What were you thinking?" I demanded, terrified about Mr Warehouse made come along and think that something was going on when it was not. As Mr. Workaholic took me further away from my husband to be, my Ex and I snuck around the lush gardens, fountains and water features of the grounds. Mr Workaholic continued his soliloquy saying that he was unable to let me go ahead with the wedding. 
"This should have been somewhere that we would have been at time at the knot, not you and someone else. I cant let you go through with this - Please lets try again?" Mr Workaholic cooed. This was beginning to get dangerous as I could feel myself getting hotter as the moments passed. I continued to feel as though I was cheating on Mr Warehouse even though I had done nothing wrong. Just being in the same company and presence as Mr Workaholic was just as potent as before and as time went on talking about how we used to be I struggled to keep my cool. 

And as I walked closely with Mr Workaholic through the dark Forest like environment I wondered why. Why now huh?! Why would he choose this moment or this time in my life when I am happy and settled, ready to start a new beginning with someone to come back into my life and want to start again. It was Mr Workaholic that ended it all between us! Now don't get me wrong it wasn't a relationship that ended badly in the sense that there was infidelity or anything, just that Mr. Workaholic felt there was more out there than me and he wanted to find it all out. As we stopped walking amongst some trees, Mr. Workaholic turned to me and asked me to leave it all behind. As the raging battle inside my head continued, I try to reason with myself. Yes Mr. Workaholic was a brilliant lover back in the day, the best maybe - or so I thought at the time. But I have to remember that Mr. Workaholic was also the same person that left me screaming and begging in absolute turmoil as he drove away, leaving me in the home you used to share with a shattered life and a broken heart. I felt so stupid. Why should I be getting emotionally involved in something that had ended over six years ago? My memoirs started to flood back and were a stark and brutally honest reminder of how things genuinely used to be - Play fights that got out of hand, annoying each other and Mr. Workaholic putting me down or making horrid comments about me - Something Mr Warehouse would never do. But there were also laughs and giggles and happiness. 

"I am an engaged woman and I'm happily in a relationship where I mean something to someone and I to them. I cant just throw it all away like you did." I said, appalled at the notion I had been wanting for so long all them years ago. Mr. Workaholic decided to call it off in late Spring, nearly seven years ago and I suppose I never really got over it totally but it was those darker thoughts and feelings I was desperately trying to cling on to so as to hold off the passion and lust I still felt raging up inside me. But it was too much. Reasoning and promising me that things would be different this time, Mr. Workaholic leaned in closer and we passionately kissed. Shocked, horrified and stunned I backed away and surprised myself by saying "OK"

I needed to let my fiance know that the wedding was off and the engagement was over. Finding my way back to the dark wood stained barn I found Mr Warehouse wondering where I was standing around and waiting for me. I felt awful as I left Mr Workaholic in the shadows, but not nearly as awful as I would feel having to go through with what I was about to do. An emotionally charged goodbye ensued with me explaining it that it was simply not Mr Warehouse that was to blame and that this was something that I had selfishly wanted for some time. 
"I love you" I said as I left, saying goodbye to the same distraught and heartbroken face that I knew only too well. 

Returning to Mr Workaholic I wondered if I have done the right thing by going back to him. It had not worked once before and would give good reason to it not working again second time around. Nevertheless I pushed all of this to the back of my mind as I left Mr Warehouse to gather his things to leave. Hours seemed to woosh past in a rush of excitement and giddiness. Yet I felt like there was something ever so foreboding. Something was not right. Then suddenly I knew. Standing with bags packed and ready to go in Mr Workaholic's girlie white hatchback I knew I couldn't do this. Running all the way back to the almost black, wood-stained barn I found Mr Warehouse packing his bags and ready to leave, tail well and truly between his legs. And like in some kind of Hollywood movie I ran and embraced Mr. Warehouse as hard as I could never to let go again. Kissing and holding each other I began apologising and telling Mr. Warehouse that it will never happen again that he was the only one; The one and only for me. 

It was not long after this that I suppose I awoke from it all. In the knowledge that it was just a weird dream, almost nightmarish in its approach that I was unable to wake from. In my half-sleep-slumber I was forced to live up to the reality of my subconscious thoughts. Although in reality it was a Monday morning and Mr Warehouse was in no mood to be hearing of my fantastical dreams, no matter how scarily thought provoking or poignant. I suppose I will save that for another day ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Fifty Shades Finished ...

Evening, 

Sitting in the cinema, work colleagues surrounding me I felt emotional as the last few scenes played out on the big screen. This was a massive part of my life. It had been here for so long. I had read the books, Imagined my Christian and I his Ana. I had witnessed the terrible first movie and how, hooked and in need of a giggle I continued onto the Box Office for the second and third instalment. But now it was over. The end of an era and time maybe to say goodbye once and for all. 

Back in 2012, admits a gut-wrenchingly messy break-up with Mr. Workaholic I took complete solace in reading the trilogy of books by E. L James; 'Fifty Shades of Grey', 'Fifty Shades Darker' and 'Fifty Shades Freed'. It seems like so long ago I struggle to remember what it was like reading them, although I know already a part of me is hesitant to return to such a dark place in my past. Those books shaped my being, gave me structure and when everything else failed helped me realise that there was life after heart-break, even if it was sleazy and smutty. 

After being gifted 'Fifty Shades of Grey by Miss Tweedle-Dee I began reading a matter of weeks after Mr. Workaholic left what was to be our family home one day. I was hooked. It was my escape and at every given opportunity I would dive straight back into it. I couldn't put it down. On the Bus. On the Train. In the Weight Watchers Class. At work and At home. Like the rest of the nation, I was enraptured by Christian and his Red Room of Pain! Written as part of an original Twilight fan fiction I soon completely immersed myself in the world of Mr. Christian Grey and Miss Anastasia Steele. When I wasn't found drinking away my sorrows with friends of a weekend back home in Dunstable and Luton, or at sneaking out of work on a break to call Mr. Woof just to get him off, I would be found with my head in those books; escaping in any way I could from my own reality. 

As things got easier with my break-up with Mr. Workaholic, I soon rekindled a somewhat telephonic and long-distance relationship with Mr. Woof, (to which he has now earned his name) and in a round about way, gave me back some power and control I had since lost. In past blog posts I have written about how control and domination has been something of interest for me since I was a teenager, with rough play and borderline BDSM being a sticking point in many of my previous relationships. When E. L. James hit the big time with the trilogy of clit-flicks Fifty Shade of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed, I was left wanting more. So when the films were announced to be released in cinemas I like many a red-blooded women was screaming in pleasure and joy at seeing Willies on the size on iMAX screens. Since then however, some idiot decided to turn the whole thing into a shoddily thrown together movie of the first book whereby we learnt that the cast hate each other, the director and the author hate each other and how much tits, bums and fannies get airtime in films that were made for women who like cock. 

Anyway that was Media Student me popping out to say hello, One minute whilst I beat her back into her fluffy-handcuffs. 

I suppose in a way the concept of BDSM had always been in the back of my mind, a taboo idea reserved only for a trusting relationship of which I found myself without. But I always liked the thought of being in control and in charge. I tried it once. Once! 

Cast your minds back everyone to my post entitled "A Midsummer Night's Disaster!" in which I truly thought that this would be a good time to implement my inner dominatrix. Suffice to say that attempting kinky sex with a drunk man whom you do not know the name of and have brought home for the night is not a good idea at all. My excuse was that I was a lost little soul who had just found out the love of her life was not reciprocating the feeling. I think we all know the ending to that story so I shall not relive it again. Looking back now it was a step too far and one which was taken in hast with the prospect of getting over my first and possibly only true love, at least that is what I thought at the time, unbeknownst to me that I would meet the quirky Mr. Cheese, The flash-in-the-pan that was Mr. Coffee and oh-so lovable Mr. Warehouse not to mention some of the other odd-balls I dated. 

Needless to say that I was happy with the (NSA) No Strings Attached heated phone-calls I received in the dead of the night from Mr. Woof. Some of them were when he was stoned. Some of them were when he was drunk. Some of them were even when he was at work himself. When I talk about it like that it seems as though he was using me to the highest of advantages; abusing the trust and vulnerability of an old friend. But I was as much to blame in that as Mr. Woof was. I wanted and needed attention. I craved it. I was lacking from all areas of life and was bruised by recent events, so I did what any normal girl would in that scenario and go back to what was familiar and comforting to me and that was Mr. Woof. Yes we had an odd relationship from the moments we would sneak off to a quiet corridor in school or the after school stolen sessions on the meadow fooling around in the sun. I was always his secret and now I didn't mind that so much as I wasn't ready for commitment but still needed that yearning attention and to get back some sort of control on my life. Even to this day I don't think that Mr. Woof really knew the power he had over me and how he made everything seem better in those stormy, cloudy days. I needed a little something I could dip into as and when I wanted. My honey pot of self-discovery and self-obsession. A confidence boost that extended far further than sexual gratification. Ahh yes, it was "A Dogs Life" after all. 

And as I left that cinema seat, another film over and done with, I felt sad for the ending of something that had brought me such fun, laughter and naughtiness over the last six or so years. And all for seeing a crumby movie about bondage. 


'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Getting Back On The Horse!

Hello one and all, 

So after the debacle of last week I am slightly feeling better although I am fully aware that my Cystitis is still raging my downstairs mix-up and creating more hassle than its worth. I have the day off tomorrow though so I am hoping now my course of Antibiotics have finished I can go back and they can finally get to the bottom of why this is such a chronic issue for me. As another week has come and gone, yet another drama unfolds. Would it surprise you in the slightest if I told you that my absolutely lovely Mr. Warehouse has yet another job. Yes. I know. 

Meeting me after work on Tuesday en route to my second job I saw a solomn face that said something was wrong. Worried Mr. Warehouse was about to put us right back to square one, I asked why the long face. He explained that after finishing his job that afternoon and despite being told that he would be needed all week at the Steelworks, he had been told on Tuesday afternoon as he finished that his services were not required tomorrow and that they would be in touch if and when they did need him. Heart sinking and feeling the all too familiar now sickness return to the back of my throat I swallowed the anger and resentment and told him I loved him. "It would get better, wouldn't it?" I soothed myself. "I mean it has to right? Can't get much worse - Can it?"

"Come on then, be honest, there must be a reason why they would give everyone else work and not you. Just tell me. I wont be angry. I promise." I asked my beloved other-half. 
"I don't know. I really don't have a clue." He replied, puzzled. "Unless it was the fact that some women asked me to cut two-hundred-and-forty sheets of Steel and I cut two-hundred-and-forty-three as otherwise there would have been a lot of excess waste."
Disappointed I tried to hide it as I said to him that he needs to listen carefully to instructions and follow them by the book exactly or this will keep happening. 
"If this women has asked for two-hundred-and-forty sheets of metal cut into heart-shaped dildo's then she wants two-hundred-and-forty sheets of metal cut into heart-shaped dildo's! If she wants them rammed up her arse - She wants them rammed up her arse, no questions asked." I said trying to be empathetic although lacking slightly through frustration and anger. 

Arriving into town, we departed the bus and headed towards the call centre. After making several phone calls to the agencies in town that were still open with no luck I had said it would be a good idea to come with me to my place of work and enquire if they were still hiring as they may have been able to interview him there and then on the spot. Although Mr. Warehouse clearly had other ideas as he kissed me on the cheek and headed for the bus back home to the flat. 
"What are you doing?" I asked, confused. 
"I'm going home. I can't do this right now. I'm so sick and tired of this!" Mr. Warehouse flippantly said, unaware at just how close I was to boiling point. 
"What, and you really think I enjoy going to work every single evening at a call centre I am not even reaping the rewards from?" I simmered, although cooling myself enough to convince him to come with me and give it a go. 

No more than a few steps into our ten-minute walk to the call centre I heard moaning. 
"Well its not like you support me anyway is it?" Mr. Warehouse snapped. And with that phrase, so did I. Launching into Defcon-10, I ranted about how much love and support I have tried to muster over the last few weeks, all in the knowledge that my wages alone couldn't support us, especially not when we have a wedding to go to this weekend which we have barely anything saved for and my annual summer holiday with the girls which I again barely have a two-cent coin to run together let alone any spending money for Euros. Rant continuing after Mr. Warehouse had explained that 'its not what I meant - I meant financially' sent me into overdrive and I launched even further stating that given another week or two and it would be yours truly picking up his credit card bill and all other manor of bills he has. 

Boil over I arrived at work and sat on the wall outside looking into the storm in the distance. It began to rain. I thought about how it would ever get better if there is no motivation, confidence or skill to be had. I couldn't keep doing this. Was this it? Was this how it was all going to end? Would I be in a fortnight or so's time asking Mr. Warehouse to move out and calling an end to our relationship? What about all those horrible dates on Tinder? Who would I have pillow fights with at four-in-the-afternoon or tickle before I go to sleep? 

Worried I went to work and returned home in a zombie like state, going about the motions until it was time for bed. Someone was hungry but all I could think about was the fact that my boyfriend was yet again unemployed and in that very moment I could feel myself detach from him slightly and a little light in me went out. Scared for our future together and what may be round the next corner I struggled to sleep as the stiffness of an angry-jobless penis stuffed into my lower back, its owner oblivious to how it felt to be skewered like a shish kebab.  

The following morning I got dressed and ready for work, sighing as I looked at my sleeping Beau, only to feel the same as the night before. Grey. Leaving the house I was hopeful that something would come up, but all in the knowledge that the Xbox was still on standby. But I need not have worried so much, for by the time I sat down at my desk with my breakfast and morning coffee I had a email. It was Mr. Warehouse. He had a phone-call from the Agency and they had asked him to come it to do a drugs test as they may have got him a placement for a Temp-Perm contract at a Pharmaceuticals company. The same Pharmaceuticals company my doting father works at. Nervous and worried he wouldn't pass I encouraged him to be honest with them as to what he had taken medication wise in the last four-weeks and just get down to their town-centre offices to do the test. 

Couple of hours later I had the phone-call I had been waiting for. 
"I start tomorrow" Mr. Warehouse said down the phone in an excited and yet relieved tone. I was so proud of him. He had passed all his Math, English and Drugs test with flying colours and was now a fully fledged member of the temporary team working the daytime shift, aptly named 'The Golden Ticket' as it starts at 7am and your finished by 3pm - Perfect for parents, second-jobbers and lazy-bums alike. And with picking and packing it shouldn't be the hardest thing my little employee has had to do. I was absolutely over-the-moon for him and so was everyone around me, for I had turned into such a stress-head when Mr. Warehouse didn't have a job. 

Now sure, money would be tight, and will be at least for a few weeks until we are back from the wedding in Newquay. I still have no idea how we are going to pay for everything, but I am sure we will manage. What was that old nineteen-fifties saying I swear by: Make Do and Mend? Well I have made a couple of the wedding gifts and I have mended some bits and pieces together so hopefully we can still have a lovely time, just on a bit of a budget. I have numerous vouchers, discount codes and coupons clipped and stored away for meals out and cheap and cheerful days out. A combination of Sea Safari's, Aquariums, Long Beach Walk and Pirate Museums have me very excited to visit Cornwall - I have even convinced Mr. Warehouse to come horse-riding with me.

In all honesty I am actually really looking forward to going away with Mr. Warehouse who I am still proud to call my boyfriend. He may be a pain in the arse sometimes and we may row every now and again, but who doesn't. Here's hoping that Newquay will be just the break to rekindle our love for each other and that I can get back that little light that went out. I just hope he really see's just how much I have done for us and just how close to the edge we were from falling. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Spreading My Wings

Morning one and all, 

So the past couple of weeks have been hectic and in all honesty I know that the next few up until I leave for the States are going to be even more-so. But as life passes by in a haze, blurring one day into the next and weeks into months I wonder to myself when I have a moment from the manic madness that surrounds my desk and wonder what I want from life. 

Consulting my head I know that my long-term prospects are to find a man, settle down, move in, get a dog, get engaged, become someones wife and bear children then spend the next eighteen-plus years of my life occupied by baby vomit, what Sarah said at the school gates last Friday and why Dairylea Triangles only come in packs of six. And that is all whilst trying to hold down a job, house, bills and keep my husband relatively happy with the weekly blowjob, despite me having to wait ages for him to return the favour. Ahh yes, how I cannot wait for life to start with me being the head of my family. 

But something has struck me the past few months, and that is the fact that I am twenty-three. I still have lots and lots and lots (and lots more) living to do before that happens. Your twenties are meant to be the throwaway years. The ones that you spend travelling through Cambodia with some random hippie called 'Russell' whom of which you have a passionate love-life despite it not being a permanent fixture. The years you spend drinking away your hard-earned cash and sleeping with less than affluent village idiots where you have a better relationship with your duvet than with your mom or dad. 

Yes, I have thought for a long time about what I want out of life and what with being twenty-six days and counting into the New Year there is no time like the present to make some changes in order to better myself, my horizons, love-life and experiences making me an all-round better person and someone who will be able to grow some more delectable tales to tell. When I finally put down the bottle of Sambuca and turn off the disco lights in my late twenties I want to be prepared with stories of the years when I was acting-adult. I want to have dinner parties with new friends and go to mother and baby groups where we can chat about all sorts of life lessons and anecdotes that would help us through the sleepless nights and mash-throwing contests of our children. 

While Mr. Cheese was not the best kind of person in all regards, least his bedroom ability to keep up with my libido, he did awaken a fire within me to get out into the world and see things. When Ghana-gate was first announced I always thought I would like the idea of just going somewhere for several months and travelling, working, learning and having fun all at the same time. Maybe I would make some new friends or even meet that all-illusive 'The One'. Africa. Asia. Australia. The Americas. All are so rich with sites and scenery I am struggling which to do and where to go. Mr. Warehouse? I don't think or even know if he is the travelling type. He is such a home-bird I think it would be too much to fly away for months at a time with no sense of where we are going and what we are doing. I don't honestly think he is cut out for it, let alone us as a couple?! Besides I think I would enjoy it more and I may get more out of it if I was on my own. Anyway, you can only fit one person on an elephant at once!

I have however settled with this year exploring a little closer to home. Europe will be my big hitter this year and I may consider taking a good two weeks in order to go travelling around it, accompanied by as many weekends away as I can cram in. Denmark, Switzerland, France, Italy, Poland and Austria are all top of my list including fascinating cities like Prague, Budapest, Berlin and others slightly closer to home like Dublin, Belfast and Edinburgh. I would like to say that every bank holiday apart from the end of May (being Miss Tweedle-Dumb's birthday which I would be crazy to miss) and Christmas/New Years I would like to get away somewhere. Although with the first Bank Holiday of the Year looming just a fortnight after flying back from Las Vegas I will have little time to hatch a plan of action. I was thinking of maybe even packing a bag and heading straight to the airport to pick up a cheap flight anywhere and just going for a mad spontaneous binge getaway. 

However in order to do this I must take action. I must be proactive in my search for adventure with the view to seek out fun and delve into the unknown. You see, after Mr. Workaholic left I was completely empty. I had no purpose in life and nothing to get up for in the morning but to go to work, with the odd occasion of escaping wretched Northampton to come back home and get drunk with friends just to take the pain away from the heartbreak. Slowly I have come round to the idea that I need to explore, not only myself but others and new things. I feel that I am now, partly because of Mr. Workaholic, that I am a commitment-phobe, megalomaniac who gets bored very easily. 

Maybe this is another one of my Quarterly-Life-Crisis', but of late my toes have been chillier than ever, although they are now starting to thaw out after someone surprised me with just some simple affections and kind gestures. Sometimes you can be so wrapped up in something or an idea about what you want to do, that you loose sight of just how good you have got it. Things in my head recently have become clouded and as a result I have felt trapped and in need of escape, which probably explains the thoughts of travelling and exploration I have day-dreamt about at my desk. There is only one way out from the situation I find myself, and I know, from experience, it will not be pretty or easy but it is something that may well have to be done. When or even if is another kettle of Koi Carp. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Life Should Be Lived

Evening One and All, 

Life and it should be lived. 

This exactly what I told myself when a certain someone pinged into my inbox Wednesday lunchtime. Reading the message and slamming it back down on the already unstable table in the small kitchen at work I noted a concerned look from Mr. Warehouse. Knowing I was unable to lie to him successfully I began to explain myself and my sudden outburst. My African Babybel had text me. I was angry. What made it worse was the now dulling affection that I had for him still lingered. Explaining everything I was judged immediately and told to block, dispose and delete Mr. Cheese from my life. Easier said than done but actually over the past fortnight I have found it is getting easier. More-so now that I know he isn't a ten minute drive from my bed. 

Lets face it. What was really good about it? I am sure that I don't need to divulge to those that are regular readers that between the sheets was chillier than I would have liked, especially for a couple less than a year into a relationship. It wasn't great really was it. Mr. Cheese was never the man I would marry, my baby-daddy or the person I would spend my golden years progressively hating but continue loving. No. It was a nice thought that I stumbled across many a time but something I knew was unachievable. I wish it was different but it is not. Miss Tweedle-Dumb said to me the other day something that hit a nerve and something that I never had thought about before. She said that "Mr. Cheese never loved you like you knew love before. Mr. Workaholic was your everything as were you for him but with Mr. Cheese it was never even close". I fully understood what she was trying to say and in all honesty I think it was true. Mr. Cheese never loved me, despite how much I wanted him to. But on the one hand maybe that was a good thing, protecting me in the long run from myself and my own ideologies. 

Wednesday Afternoon was not wasn't the first time I had heard from Mr. Cheese and it certainly would not be the last for as the sun set on a Saturday evening another dreaded ping sounded my eardrums. Light conversation ensued and with it some tit-bits of information on how life was in the waste-land of Ghana. I could tell that he was missing home and also my company but this had to stop. I did something I had promised myself I would not do. And as I began scratching at the surface of my smartphone, I wrote:
"I really didn’t want to do this but I feel now that I have to in order to gain some control of the situation. I love you and you will always have a piece of my heart but I can not carry on like this. I need to move on. I desperately wanted it to work for us but it was you who ended it, not me. You only have yourself to blame. I am sorry that things didn’t work out for us but that was your own doing and now I am afraid you will have to deal with the consequences of your actions. There is not a moment in my day in which you are not in my thoughts but you gave me up remember and I can’t continue with this any longer. I will always be here for you and your family should you ever need me but I cannot and will not wait forever. I deserve more than this. I'm Sorry."

And with that my wings came yet again. As strong as they were before I finally renounced Mr. Cheese and found myself rising above his egotistically hedonistic reply. I did deserve better. "If Mr. Cheese can't love me then he shall have to let go so that I can find someone that will" I thought to myself. Yeah! Fuck you man! I thought as I continued with my new obsession - American Horror Story! If Mr. Cheese couldn't satisfy me in every way then why the hell am I still getting hung up on it. I need to build a bridge and get the fuck over it! 

Feeling empowered I turned to my growing little black book and primly placed at the top of that list (at present anyway) is Mr. ToyBoy himself! Ever since our blissful First Date a few weeks ago I had been desperate to see him again. Sadly though the messages have been fleeting and it seemed almost as though our second date was just a bunch of words said to end our first encounter on a favourable note. Approaching this subject with tenderness I asked Mr. ToyBoy why it was that we were postponing our Second Date a third time. Bracing myself for an honest rejection from someone nearly four-years my junior I opened the text. To my surprise it was completely on the contrary. Compliments and apologies aside, between the lines Mr. ToyBoy seemed almost upset at not being able to keep to our earlier appointments and was feeling anxious in wanting to go on a Dinner Date with me. So we have agreed that whilst we have both been busy with work, friends, family and school - I mean college - we will hopefully rearrange our date for the weekend after my birthday. After all rescheduling is what I do for a living.

Rescheduling however will not be on my to do list come Friday night when my weekend of celebrations continue. Whilst Thursday will be the day in which we all mourn another year towards my death, Friday will be party time as myself and a whole bunch of guys and gals from work will be hitting Bedford Town Centre to get down and get funky with the best of 'em! Saturday morning I plan on waking with a size-nine in my bed and after shoving him out the door I shall nurse a fuzzy head whilst sipping fresh coffee and snaffling up the rest of my Subway like a slob until my girls arrive. Dressed to the nines in what I hope to be fancy-dress, I shall yet again be set loose onto the streets of Bedfordshire in the hope that many shots shall be swallowed and many a man shall be flirted with. Sunday Morning will be a time for reflection as I shall bid farewell to the partying antics for another year and head back home to my Grandparents house in Luton to visit family and take sanctuary in a good old roast dinner with all the trimmings and a good old chin-wag with Nanny. 

And whilst I am excited for the merriment, I am also well aware of a phone call from someone less than festive. Mother shall be calling. Something I know she takes great pride in doing every year. Not only for the fact that she can spoil one of the only days in the year I get to take pleasure in but also the fact that together with my Father she birthed me and so has a small role in my creation which she feels the need to reinstate every year. I am however prepared for it as I always am. I shall be at work and my schedule is looking busy with meetings all day, a steady flow of paperwork to get through and other activities to keep me occupied I am positive that I will not let her burden my day any more than the minutes she wastes breathing to me words of many happy birthday returns, all laced with poison and hate. 

And so I must dash. I have a million and one things to do before the euphoria begins and one of them is sorting out what I am going to wear on Friday along with the theme for Saturday, preparing food and drink for Saturday night, doing the washing, making sure the toilet is scrubbed and ensuring that those roots are touched up! So much to do and so little time - I wouldn't have it any other way!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Ego Vobis Valedico (I Say Goodbye To You)

Hello there, 

So one week on and a slight emotional roller-coaster as always (would you expect anything less from me?) but nevertheless I have been able to suck it up and get on with it. Unfortunately I have not yet been on Date number two with Mr. ToyBoy as yet however there is no need to rush into things as I am sure we will have plenty of time - Until I die before he does as a result of before mentioned age gap, Haha. 

And so with no Date planned with anybody else either I saw my week moderately filled up with social meetings, cinema trips and hanging out with friends. Even managed to squeeze in a little trip to the Zoo with Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Pea - Miss Tweedle-Dumb's little Sister. Well I say little but at eighteen she is the same age as my Brother but that doesn't stop me thinking of her as the baby of the pack. My weekend was spent having makeshift facials (Nothing filthy you - Just Miss Tweedle-Dumb lathering my face with a moist, creamy substance), being pestered into going to the Zoo to see monkeys by Miss Tweedle-Dee and company and then on top of all of that being told that I have no maternal instinct and should never be allowed to be around children under the age of twelve. Thanks Guys! Sometimes I wonder how lucky I am to have friends with such confidence in me being a parent one day. Really, Haha! But the week wasn't always so jovial and light. There was a dark cloud that hung over yesterday (Sunday) that had been grimacing since Thursday, a storm I knew was coming and one which I had prepared in every way I could and knew how to ... 

Rushing through my workload I realised come midday that my 'in' tray was empty. I had boshed through my pile of papers on my desk so hard I was now sat here twiddling my digits. Taking an early lunch I messaged my dinner date and checked in on my Tinder's. As a final farewell and in all honesty a last ditch attempt at getting laid I had invited Mr. Cheese over for dinner and a film at my apartment although I think we both knew that two bottles of our favourite Rose and my warm orange sofa would soon make the film seem like the less entertaining option. Returning to my desk I pottered around the rest of my working day keeping myself busy until the clock hit five and it was home-time for me! Snatching at my coat and scurrying off the bathroom to apply my war paint I was soon ready and waiting outside the office under my window awaiting the blue bug to come bumbling round the corner into the now quiet industrial estate. Adjusting my pink 1950's skirt and leather jacket I then lit a cigarette cockily thinking to myself that what did I care if he went out to Ghana for quarter of a year and met some blonde bimbo called Sarah-Jane, I was way out of his league anyway. I needed something real. After a good twenty-minutes of bigging myself up and yet again checking my dating profiles for potential suitors in the hope that Mr. ToyBoy would message me back more frequently than he was a car pulled into the parking lot. Climbing in I went to lean in for a kiss only to realise stupidly that this was not the etiquette now Mr. Cheese and I were no longer dating. 

Pulling away we chatted about our days and as we crossed the river into town I looked out at the water that once blossomed our relationship but now is a source of life for something new. I smiled at the irony as a voice asked what I had been up to since we had last met. "Is it a good idea to tell my ex that I have met someone new?" I thought to myself. I decided 'no' but only because it would inevitably lead round to the question "Well I have - Have you?" and in all honesty I just didn't want to hear about the dates that he had been on. Ignorance is bliss they say and I wasn't going to spoil my chances of a spoon. Letting ourselves into my flat I listened to some of the pompous and frankly upper-class snobbery that was vacating Mr. Cheese's mouth. I knew he was posh but fuck me! Maybe this was for the better?! 

Plating up I donned the table with condiments and nice cutlery as Mr. Cheese topped up my wine glass. Sitting down to dinner and without thinking I let him take the floor with conversation. Avoiding his gaze and not really listening to him I acknowledged more the view from my window across the rooftops of Suburbia. Conversation soon switched though and became about that dreaded subject - Us! Talking honestly and openly I again gave him the space he clearly needed to express about our failed relationship. On noting just that - Another one of my failed relationships - I was told that Mr. Cheese did not see it as a failure but as something that had to happen. Fate almost. Disregarding his philosophy I reached for bottle number two at this point and retreated to the sofa, changing the subjects to something a little less depressing than my lack of a normal relationship that wasn't between myself and Cadburys. As the liquid-relaxant kept flowing and I slid on my new heel's making me now taller than my 6ft-Ex we soon noticed that the fiery couch was up to its old tricks again. 

Etching closer I knew more than both of us the painful implications in which this would end but tossing them aside along with other undergarments we retreated to the bedroom, lead only by the flickering flames of the all hallowed Yankee Candle in a sickly sweet Salted Caramel flavour. After a short period of teasing we got on with it only for me to wonder why I was here again. As we lay panting, my head on Mr. Cheese's chest I played with his chest wig one last time bidding it a silence goodbye from behind my lashes. Running my fingers over his sternum was something that had always comforted me and now this was the last time. For ever. I knew that when he walked out that door in the morning it would be the last time we ever saw each other again. But at least we would fall asleep together. At least I would have one more morning waking up to him right beside me. Wrong! Mr. Cheese soon made the statement that he was sleeping at his Grandma's that night and as a result could not stay the night. All my preparation had gone out with window. This was something I did not have a contingency plan for! 

Feeling myself loose my grip on the situation I fought within myself, a constant battle that continued for almost an hour. Back and fourth I grappled between telling him to fuck the fuck off and begging his to stay, the later only brought back the scorching pain of the moment Mr. Workaholic left me. I knew that once he left I would be alone once more with only my mind and TV to keep me company. Feeling anxious at the prospect of spending the night alone I pulled on his arm to keep him from getting dressed. When told that Mr. Cheese was leaving I responded by lashing out. This went on until the Cab arrived to take him away. In the knowledge of its stationary position outside my door I sat on my bed, cross-legged and naked. I was as bare as a human could be. Almost as a metaphor to our relationship I had yet again laid myself open to him, open as a book and had poured my heart out presenting my soul as an offering and yet it still wasn't enough. 

Making a promise to myself never to get to this point again, I let my head know once more that I was going to be OK. As Mr. Cheese perched himself on the end of my bed I tried one last attempt to make him call off the Taxi. He declined in apology. Starting an obviously well-rehearsed soliloquy with how I should remember how beautiful and special I am, I rested my fingers on his soft lips, putting the goodbye to an end. Even though I knew that this was the end and that it was for ever a goodbye in ever sense of the word, I did not want to hear them. Not now. Not ever. I had accepted it in my head, but hearing it from a different voice to my own would only make it more real. As Mr. Cheese and I stared into eyes that were filling, for the first time mine broke first. Wiping my cheek I took off my silver St. Christopher's and placed it over the head of hair I had come to know and love, explaining that St. Christopher was the patron saint of travel and would keep him safe on his own adventures. 

"But it's yours ... " Said Mr. Cheese, sobbing too.
"It was never mine" I replied lovingly with a small smile. Holding each other in a tight embrace I swore that this was the end and that tomorrow would be a fresh chapter in the novel of me. As my front door clicked I raced to the skylight pushing it wide open, breathing in the crisp night air. Mr. Cheese looked up. Whether he saw me or not I don't know but that was the last time I ever saw him. Watching the lights of the Cab drive off down the quiet street I stood looking out across the navy sky for a long time. Watching. Waiting. Hoping that he would come back. But Mr. Cheese didn't. He never did. And so I poured myself a Screwdriver to ease the pain only to shun it moments later realising I had poured it into the glass Mr. Cheese had drank from hours earlier. Curling up on my trusty settee I spent the entire night trying in-vain to sleep. I couldn't. I wanted to, even just for a little bit, just to pretend this was all a bad dream. It wasn't. This was reality now. My reality. And yet again I was alone. 

But this time it was different. I was in my flat. With my sofa and my bed. They belonged to me not Mr. Cheese. So why was I letting him get the better of me. Consulting a friend most the night we chatted into the small hours and when the frosty sun finally broke through the Friday morning fog I knew that work would bring forward a purpose and something to occupy my brain. After no sleep at all I threw on something from my wardrobe not bothering to dress up for the office today. I needed comfort and if I found it in a pair of baggy jeans, soft jumper and Converse then so be it. 

The days have passed tediously and yesterday alone seemed painfully slow to end. Despite me having a good time with close friends and enjoying a wonderfully impromptu day out watching Chimpanzee's scratch their arse and Elephants defecating in front of a live audience, I couldn't help but notice the hours ticking down to the moment in which Mr. Cheese and I would no longer be on the same continent let alone breathing in the same air. Last night though on my way home and before I put the key in my door I looked up at the moon, as I did with the sun today, and comforted myself in the knowledge that it we would both be looking at the same thing. 

I'm not saying that I should never trust any more people with my heart or that I will never fall in love again. I'm only stating that next time I would prefer it to be real and something in which I can grow and nurture, not something that needs constant attention and weeding to keep healthy. And so my final closing statement is one of joy and thoughtfulness. To the person four-thousand, four-hundred and eighty-five miles away staring at that same ball of light in the sky I ask you - Did you pack your bag yourself?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Circus Acts!

Hello Everybody, 

So after last week's date on Sunday I began dating in the modern world. Would 2014 be the year I finally met Mr. Right? Who knows yet, maybe I have already met them or maybe it could be a Mister from my past. All I know is that dating right now has gone from optimistic fun meeting new people and being 'story-up-staged' as I now like to call it, to the drastically different end of the spectrum in which makes me ponder exactly what I even want from my love life right now. And the fact that a certain Monsieur Cheese is never far from the forefront of my mind is never easy. 

Tuesday night I decided to spend some time with the Tweedles and we were met also with the company of Miss Stuu as well. Thankful for a good old trip to the cinema I was glad that whilst conversation was (obviously) about me and my subsequent dates, there was not too much probing. Tindering whilst on the move, I have found, has made me somewhat an addict. Swiping left and swiping right, whether it be on the bus to work, in the pub with friends or even waiting for a Tinder Date to arrive I confess I am a little hooked. I keep thinking to myself that I need a hobby, and meeting up with my Dad at the weekend only confirmed this. I have even thought about getting a bar job or scarier - Joining a gym! Either way I am going to need to occupy myself in the coming Winter months and the best use of my time I think is working towards that holiday fund. Where am I jetting off to I hear you holla? Well its not Costa Del Sol or even Faliraki. Nope. Come March 2015 I shall be hitting up the slots and shops of Vegas baby! Accompanied by Miss Tweedle Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dee's family we shall be jetting off in the spring to have a once in a lifetime opportunity to see a little bit of America! And whilst I am excited about all them burgers, sausage-legs-by-the-pool-bikini photos and bottomless all-night Starbucks, I cant help think about all them American men just ready for a bit of British Blonde! Urgh, roll on 2015! Of course this needs to pay for itself and has only really been made possible with the fact that my job at the company has now gone perm so I no longer have to worry about finances. 

But of course, you guys don't want to hear all about my boring job or even about my super-amazing-awesome trip to Vegas. You wanna hear about the dating scene and how it is all going since my Date with Mr. Moustache, the Thai-Prostitute-Marrying extraordinaire. Well as if things couldn't get worse I went on a date that would leave me wish I could run away to the circus ... NOT!

Standing outside the dodgy pub looking like one of the 'Lost and Founds' inside I started to wonder if my date would even turn up. Had I, Abbey-Louise, been stood up again? Panicking slightly I text friends to put my mind at ease. Worrying that my top was too low I shuffled from foot to foot getting agitated by the waiting game. Everyone that knows me will say that I am always late and never, ever early. I hate it. I hate the early arrival to something, not knowing if guests or other people will arrive and just generally standing around like a Lemon even though you know that they are only parking the car. It just makes me anxious and Wednesday night was no different. Spying everyone walking in or out of the Public House I couldn't clock the guy I had been messaging all week. But then, all of a sudden there he was in front of me and grinning like a Cheshire Cat, me the unbeknownst Alice. Glancing up from my phone and tucking it into my satchel I noticed one thing and one thing only - The hair! Long and curly it was tightly curled coming out from the sides and top of his head. This, coupled with the receding hairline itself and freckled cheeks resembled what can only be described as something from Stephen King's IT. OK, slight over kill there (no pun intended given the novel) but he honestly did look like a clown you would book for a seven-year-old's birthday party. Swallowing every bit of my self in one swift gulp I took the plunge and entered the pub with Mr. Krusty. Although consequentially, after my date with Mr. Krusty there has been many a banter thrown about amongst friends and family how the lack of water-squirting flowers, the colourful honking car and large footwear were all amiss from the date itself. 

Noticing a commotion I made a swift move to cover Mr. Krusty's gaze towards the drunk man being held down by four punters on the sticky bar floor. Too late. My date has noticed and whilst I try to keep the conversation going with the man behind the bar and my Date he is clearly watching the brawl now happening metres away from us. Hoping to uphold Bedford as more than just a booze-bin for the old and unemployed I mentioned the beer garden. Bad Move! After being seated I was told wondrous stories of far off lands that Mr. Krusty had performed in, sorry, visited. 'Gaap yaaar' didn't even come close to some of the things he was telling me. Stories from his time in Indian, America, China, Africa, Australia, Italy and all manner of other place teamed with adventures such bungee-jumping off rickety old rope bridges naked, skiing in the Alps and even cuddling lion cubs. I think that it was safe to say that by the time my Cider was warm, myself and Mr. Krusty would not be riding off into the sunset together. Disappointed slightly that my tales would never compare to his, I resigned myself to the fact that personality and conversational raconteur were far too established and well-travelled for me. 

As I genuinely struggled to concentrate on the fabulous adventures of my date with a circus act, I noted that a rather hairy bearded man had seated himself at a table opposite us. Clearly listening into our conversation for once I tried to blend into the background. Unfortunately being on a first date we stuck out like a sore thumb. This was not however a problem until his friend turned up. Now I would like to think I am far from naive (I'm not) but suddenly outside of the table containing two pints and a dithering will to live was a far greater story unfolding. A handful of purple twenty pound notes were exchanged for a hidden hand shake. I knew what it was but the drug dealers were not satisfied with giving away kicks, they wanted to get some of their own and so pulled up a chair or two to listen into a Date with Mr. Krusty and I. Laughing and snickering at the company I was in the coked-up criminals started to mock my Date and as a result we both took note. Ears becoming pricked we heard a slur referring Mr. Krusty's look to a TV character. Now I know that throughout this experience so far I have spoke of my drink-date with Mr. Krusty, the clown look-a-like, as something from a cartoon for kids, but that is my prerogative. I had to endure that date so I should be able to speak of it as I will without the input from smacked-up weasels looking for there next fix in the back end of a local pub. Regardless of this though I continued conversation, trying to ignore the glares from our onlookers and upon explaining that a ''Friend'' of mine (actually Mr. Cheese but somehow I realised I spoke too much of him and should now refer to him as a friend instead of The Ex) was studying Classics our audience of one spoke up whilst his friends were at the bar. 

"Classics!" The bearded man bellowed in an friendly, enquiring manner. I replied with a simple yes and attempted to continue. My Date had other ideas! 
"Are you a teacher?" Mr. Krusty asked politely. Snapping back the sunken eyed man quipped "Do I look like a teacher of Classics to you, Mate?". Trying to calm the gentleman rudely interrupting my hilarious date by clarifying his studies, rolling off terms I had investigated with my dear Mr. Cheese on lazy Sunday's only weeks ago. Sophocles and Euripides were amongst those discussed with works such as Antigone and Oedipus. For a split second I felt as though I had a little part of my Cheese back, but then I was thrown back into the moment only to realise my Date was going from bad to worse by the minute. Finishing off my pint I decided it was home time and getting up from my metal framed chair I felt wavy from the alcohol. "Am I drunk? No, I cant be ... " I thought. Walking through the hot pub and out into the cooler evening air I prepared myself for a walk home and maybe even another Tinder sesh. My date had other ideas though. 

"Do you want a lift home?" Mr. Krusty kindly asked. Mentioning how close it is to town I declined. 
"Well at least let me walk you home?" Mr. Krusty insisted. After mentioning that it was a good half hour walk to mine and that it was getting dark he still kept at it. Finally giving in I accepted his offer to walk me home. As we chatted of politics and current affairs on the way home conversation turned towards the weekend and our plans. Mr. Krusty headed up the argument for a second date with a trip to Woburn Safari Park and Zoo. Slightly sick to my stomach, I couldn't bear the thought of going to a place so special and close to my heart without Mr. Cheese. I mean that was one of the burning images and memories of a time much better and easier than the end. I declined the offer stating that the new systems coming into work would have me tied up most of Saturday and Sunday anyhow. Turning into my street I motioned for him to let me finish my journey to my door alone. The hint was not taken and thus here I was standing outside my flat making an awkward goodbye to a curly-haired ginge. 

"Can I have a kiss?" Blurted out my date as I was mid-sentence about something clearly not as important. Trying to pretend I did not hear I continued with the importance of my sentence. He said it again. I couldn't escape it this time. I had finished what I had to say and couldn't think of anything to change the subject too. I hesitated for a few minutes trying to think of a way out. Panic set in. "Who even asks for a kiss nower days? Mr. Cheese didn't ask for a kiss, he just went for it. Why are men so British!" I thought as I tried to think of a nicer way to say no. I couldn't and before the poor mite asked again I just said yes and prayed to a god that doesn't exist that it would all be over soon and I would be hopelessly laughing and crying about it to the Tweedles. Following up what was honestly a pleasant smooch with the casual and somewhat now awkward farewells I turned and walked inside my front door. Collapsing on my couch I surrendered myself to yet another unsuccessful date. After a optimistic outlook from Miss Tweedle-Dee over the phone I made some dinner and then proceeded to my covers to sleep off the Scrumpy before work tomorrow. Rule number four about dating and life in general: Never drink on a school night. 

As the end of the working week approached I rounded off my week with some casual drinks with a male colleague from work on Friday night. Leaving the office I was told by the Office-Bods to play nice and not to bite too hard - whatever that meant. I knew since that first initial meeting on our works night out that Mr. Warehouse was clearly infatuated with me. God knows why. But somehow he had plucked up all his courage to ask me on a date. Throwing caution to the wind and knowing that no matter what happens at least it is an experience that can later be reflected on in writing to the world in my weekly blogg, I said yes. Truth be told it had been set up as a cosmopolitan date, playing pool and drinking pints in a quiet local pub near where we both worked, although my initial throughout the date I felt more and more that it was just another after work drink with friends. There was some mild flirting and I definitely did not hold back on my story telling, bedroom adventures included! We spoke at length about stuff that was irrelevant in retrospect but also about work and our interests. All in all it was probably the best date I have been on so far this year (excluding the dates including Mr. Cheese, they don't count). I suppose as I waited in the beer garden for Mr. Warehouse to arrive I was calmer and more relaxed than before, maybe in the knowledge that after Date Number One turning out to be possibly still married to a Asian Prostitute and Date Number Two being an extra from Zippo's Circus, Date Number Three couldn't get much worse. I enjoyed myself and there was even a bashful period of constant laughter, something I can not remember ever doing with Mr. Cheese. 

Whether a second date is on the cards for Mr. Warehouse and I, I don't know. Second date is a big thing, I suppose it means that you find them at least in some way boyfriend material. But I am just not sure if I want that right now. I think I am far more bruised than I thought about Mr. Cheese's departure and sites of Bedford bridges in the summer sun at the Bedford River Festival at the weekend, teamed with photo's of Darlington Station don't help. I suppose in a way I have to accept, whether I like it or not, that despite our tracks crossing, the train has now left. 

'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx

The Rediscovery Of A Broken Fairytale ...

Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx

Evening to you, 

Throughout this journey I lost myself but in the space of a few days since last week and with a few tiny changes I am beginning to find myself again. Happy and content. Young and free. After downloading a few apps and being invited out on a work's night out I felt a little piece of me return every morning I opened my eyes. I anticipated that the work's 'do' would just be some quiet drinks down a local bar in the Town Centre, little did I know how much of an impact I could have. Even as I walked into the office this morning I was inundated with questions about who I left the bar with and what happened when I got home in the early hours of Saturday morning. Yes, everyone in the office seems to have me on their lips! But nothing happened as I was not in search of a lay that night, but simply the knowledge that I am not wholly repugnant and distasteful to all of the male population! I think I succeeded. 

Deciding that that my confidence needed boosting after recent events I donned a floaty skirt and heels to join my office bod's for a night on the tiles. And boy was it! Not having been out since Halloween last year (dressed as a Little Dead Riding Hood no less) I figured that I would go easy. That was until I joined those pesky lads from the warehouse downstairs from my office! Cute but not quite my type we began the evenings debauchery by knocking back an old favourite of mine - Sambuca shots! After perching myself on a bar stool, skirt billowing over my smooth legs, the conversation progressed fast and soon the boys and I were discussing sexual habits like how to go down on a girl, porn, bedroom activities and chat-up lines. The cheesiest of lines were put upon me Friday night and in all honesty I was outwardly and outrageously flirting, but with all this male attention and after recent events of the male variety, who could blame me ... 

---

Stairs. Something about them isn't there that is slightly foreboding. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always foreboding. And so as I stood at the bottom of a narrow, brown stairwell in the centre of The Big Smoke I wondered how I would feel coming down them in a few hours time. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted to step onto them but I just couldn't. All around me I must have looked like an idiot just stood there having a face-off with some simple steps. Part of me wanted to climb - Climb up there to a better life in the clouds from one down here. But the reality in my heart told me that what I could face could be down yet another very dark and lonely staircase. Breaking through the barrier of my bodies unwillingness to make the first steps, and pulling my thoughts together I finally made my ascend. Stomach flipping and body beginning to shake I told myself to stay calm and collected. Reaching the last step my shoe slipped off. Like a child I saw it as an omen from a fairytale, but alas there was to be no Prince Charming to make me Happily Ever After. I knew how this story ends, I had read it before. I had to be the knight in shining armour and save myself from tragedy yet again. 

After speaking to the waiter I was being escorted to my table where my dinner date was already seated. Winding through tables and past massive gaping windows looking out to the city beneath me I knew in my heart that this was it. Once seated and reintroduced to my company for the evening I took charge immediately of the situation in hand for failure of being made a fool which was at this point inevitable. Not saying a word to my date and disregarding everything I ordered a bottle of the rose. A scene played out in my head that at some point this evening I would rise from the table and scream "Champagne! Champagne for everyone" and the whole restaurant would too join me in a celebration. This was to stay as a fantasy for this evening was one of a melancholy mood. Ordering from a menu I had been scanning all week not knowing if I would even attend this event I made a choice and stuck by it, something that is rare in my world. Making idle small talk we danced around the real reasons we were both in the beautiful surroundings of Covent Garden. Staring into my dates eyes, bright and shiny as they had ever been I wondered which one of us would bring up the question. It had taken a while to get that moment but soon enough it was upon us. With the staff being overtly attentive and the beating evening sun glaring down on us as glanced at our surroundings on the terraced restaurant in the West End of London, I knew it would be me to break the ice once more. Becoming agitated by the lack of urgency in the debate I started. Mr. Cheese in the dock first please!

"So ... As beautiful as a surrounding this all is and as wonderful as to the views; Why are we here?" I beckoned. Heart breaking, I knew the answer before I had even asked the question. A solemn look had replaced an otherwise forced smile and so the evening commenced. Conversation spilling we yet again trudged the same old muddy ground covered like so many times before and one that I refused to put myself through any more. I had enough of going round in circles. It wasn't fun any more. But then again was it ever fun in comparison to the happiness experienced? The lack of passion and fight and energy all lost to somewhere I could not find any more. I was with a man who had no want to carry on trying. Mr. Cheese had lied to me, promising that everything would get better and that he too like me wanted to make it work. Yet again the promise along with a piece of my heart was shattered. I couldn't believe that given the opportunity to make things better and faced with loosing me all together that my boyfriend failed to take such simple steps to make it better. Affection. That's all I wanted. Not just an increase in sex drive on his part but more of the little things. Flowers, presents, cuddles, kisses and anything lovely. I want to be kissed in the pouring rain and surprised at work with a visitor. I want to be swept off my feet and feel butterflies in my belly. I want to have a smile on my face seeing his caller ID and to know that I am the only one my boyfriend needs; Maybe not forever but just to live and feel right in the moment with him. I don't think it is something that I should have to even think about asking from someone that says they love you. But even that I am failing to believe any more. 

During this past year, as most of you know, I have experienced everything a human being could ever experience. From the highest highs to the lowest lows. I was tired and exhausted. Unloved and unappreciated. I wanted to get off this ride now. I wanted to go home. As sad as it was I knew that this was the best thing for us. Things were so easy in the beginning. And then I fell. I fell before him and didn't stop until I hit the ground. Hard. I hated how I fell in love with him. His smile. His eyes. His kooky little ways. I hate how I fell for him and despite everything, he never truly fell for me. I wanted to believe anything other than what Mr. Cheese was telling me over that dinner table in London on Wednesday. Anything. I thought up scenario's of him not being happy and wanting to call Ghana off just to make things better between us. Of being gay - which wouldn't have been the first time something has happened like that. Or worst, cheating on me with someone who is much prettier and slimmer and hotter than me, which in all honesty with the way I had felt of late, would not be entirely untrue. But no, none of those things happened. It was simply the end. 

And so this concludes the chapter. A tale of wrong bridges and of falling in love. A story I hoped might never end no matter how much I told myself it would. Maybe somewhere beyond Ghana we can rekindle our infatuation with each other, making sure that we spend the time to nurture what we have together. After all, we did have a love story to rival Disney. But alas, the story of Cheese and I must come to an end, at least for now ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx